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You see more than a few familiar faces at the long table. The helmsman at the bridge, Lourde, and Sloan, who gives you a nervous wave. Holt’s reclined against the wall, one booted leg across the other, idly chatting with Kwan. And to your surprise, even Tabitha’s here, although completely covered up and as far away from the windows as possible. The surly comms officer sits with her arms crossed, impatiently waiting for the briefing to begin.
Seated with Gully, and half-vested in your NERVlink suits, you don’t have to wait too long.
Everyone stands to attention as Elishani and Geary enter the room, making towards the head of the table. They’re carrying an assortment of items, charts, maps, a briefcase, and all manner of objects used for either cartography or a presentation.
“At ease,” grunts the captain, and everyone sits back down. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, captain,” a chorus answers.
“In approximately two hours we’ll reach our destination. For the sake of secrecy, I was forbidden by the guild from disclosing it. However, now that order no longer applies now that we’re in the salvage zone.”
Geary produces a map, and lays it out across the table. It’s a semi-transparent map of the Old World, prior to the Cataclysm that saw the sky aflame, and the seas boiling. It fits neatly over a map of the “known” Flooded World, carefully aligned not to corner, but to tectonic plate.
All eyes are on the maps, as Elishani continues the presentation, tapping at a section of the map just a handful of miles away from Babylonia. An island in the Caribbean Sea. “Kingston, Jamaica. In the Age of Fighting Sail, she was the port of call for the British Empire, rising to prominence after the nearby harbor of Port Royal was destroyed in a tsunami. Prior to the Cataclysm, she was a popular tourist destination for spring breakers, retirees, and Reggae enthusiasts.”
A smattering of laughter from most of the assembled. Yourself included. “Reggae enthusiasts” usually meant an appreciation for recreational drugs.
“Cap'n,” inquires Holt once everyone’s settled, “If you don’t mind me askin', how come you had to keep it secret?”
“Because of this.” Geary reaches for the briefcase, placing it gently on the table. His head vanishes partially as he fiddles with an electronic lock, humming in satisfaction as it pops open. “Ah, here we go.”
What he produces…you’d almost call it a tablet. It’s Old World tech, definitely, and military given the faded camo pattern. Bulky, too. It’s almost the size of a textbook, but probably weighs more given how hard of a noise it makes on the table.
"That," explains Elishani, "Is a Tactical Mission Controller 'Gryphon' model, formerly the property of the late United States Air Force. Combat Controllers would be attached to special forces, and use these to establish air control and provide fire support on the field."
(cont.)
